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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206094">Threnody For Iphigenia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimesNewRoman/pseuds/TimesNewRoman'>TimesNewRoman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, I thrive off of Hurt/Comfort, Oops, Slow Burn, Some light Henry/Evie as well, Whump, dubcon, ish?, ya girl is back and this time I really ship it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:36:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimesNewRoman/pseuds/TimesNewRoman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Evie Frye, life feels like she's standing at the center of a spider's web, the strands slowly unraveling as she desperately tries to keep them tied together—chiefly, her own disastrous search for the Shroud of Eden, her brother's cavalier and reckless tirade through the Templar ranks of London, and the grief of her father's death she can no longer keep suppressed. So perhaps, it is some cruel twist of fate that she would find her path so closely intertwined with the very person she came to London to assassinate. But she's never believed in things like fate, and neither has Crawford Starrick. </p><p>AKA: A love letter to a concept that at first seemed impossible, and then began to consume my waking thoughts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evie Frye/Crawford Starrick, Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>o/ hello there! Thank you for taking an interest in <em>Threnody For Iphigenia</em>! </p><p>If you're here because you read The Sound Of Thunder, I feel I should make an obligatory disclaimer. Originally, this story and TSOT were the same story. As such, there are similar themes and scenes between the two stories, although Threnody is much more evolved. As I was writing TSOT, I found that my interpretation of the characters and their motives was shallow, and also that there were things I wanted to write—in particular, the developing relationship in my mind between Evie and Starrick—that I didn't feel comfortable adding to the established events of TSOT. </p><p>I don't want this to seem as though I'm condoning abuse, so know that Threnody For Iphigenia and The Sound of Thunder are two distinctly different stories. They have the same characters, yes, but our experiences shape us in drastic ways such that a simple decision or a chance meeting can alter the course of our life until the person on the road less traveled is unrecognizable. Such is the case here. </p><p>Regardless, this is a project I've put my blood and sweat into. It's still changing and growing, but like so many projects before it, I'd like to think that it's a piece of my soul that I'm sharing. Even if it is a somewhat odd and embarrassing part. The beauty of anonymity is such that we can circumvent shame. </p><p>Thank you again for being here, so without further ado, <em>Threnody For Iphigenia</em></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Threnody<br/>
/THrenədē/ (noun) <br/>
A song of lamentation</p><p>
  <em>CLYTEMNESTRA</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Go to; suppose thou sacrifice the child; what prayer wilt thou utter, when 'tis done? What will the blessing be that thou wilt invoke upon thyself as thou art slaying our daughter, Iphigenia? An ill returning maybe, seeing the disgrace that speeds thy going forth. Is it right that I should pray for any luck to attend thee? Surely we would deem the gods fools if we prayed for murderers.</em>
</p><p>-Iphigenia At Aulis</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> A low fog hovered over the Thames, spilling up onto the docks and settling around Crawford Starrick’s feet. A sliver of moonlight fought its way through the clouds overhead, refracting off the mist and giving the whole of the river an ethereal glow.</p><p>It was on nights like these when the chill was not unbearable and the Thames rolled lazily under his feet, that Crawford wished he didn’t have a thousand matters demanding his immediate attention. When he was growing up in the West End, he often found himself at the banks of the Thames to escape some grievance or other from his parents. Even then, he knew his place within the Order and within the world, but everything seemed farther and more manageable on those nights he managed to escape.</p><p>“We’ve got all the cargo accounted for, Mr. Starrick,” came a voice from behind him. He looked back to where Kent Jekyll stood. He held a folder out to Crawford. “The manifest, should you want to look before we start unloading.”</p><p>Crawford shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Simply make sure that everything is moved securely.” He resumed watching the boats that crawled over the Thames, holding one hand in the other behind his back. “I do want the sale of liquor constrained in Lambeth.”</p><p>“Because the police made it a priority? Wouldn’t you want to increase sales?” Kent asked. He sounded genuinely confused, so Crawford ignored the insubordination.</p><p>“If you would like all of our connections in Lambeth to be arrested, be my guest.”</p><p>Kent made a noise of understanding. “I see. And the opium?”</p><p>Narcotics. Such an ugly trade, but a necessary one in the modern underground. “Have your brother supervise the distribution. I don’t want addiction such that it will incite violence.”</p><p>“Very good, Mr. Starrick,” Kent said. Crawford listened until the sound of his heavy footsteps trailed off, then exhaled slowly.</p><p>He had insisted on supervising the shipment as the last two had ‘gone awry’ in Raphael Jekyll’s words. In fact, they had been stolen, which was beginning to disrupt the black market Crawford had so carefully cultivated.</p><p>The sound of footsteps on the stone above the docks pulled at his attention. He raised an eyebrow and turned, expecting to see Kent returning, but instead found...nothing. At least at first. As he peered into the shadows cast by the crates and machinery around the docks, he began to make out the silhouette of someone crouching against the low stone wall that led into the factory yard beyond the docks.</p><p>He took a step closer and the figure stiffened. He noted both the hood drawn low over their eyes as the figure turned, realizing Crawford’s gaze was upon them. Even in the pale moonlight, he could make out both their rounded face and willowy form and he realized the Assassin was a woman.</p><p>She watched him for several seconds, tensed and waiting for him to sound the alarm to the men working on the docks behind him. But Crawford found little desire to send his men on a fruitless chase. This Assassin was clearly the one behind the stolen cargo and as such had managed to evade Jekyll’s men before; she would do so again.</p><p>He inclined his head towards her in a gesture of acknowledgment. The Assassin took a step back, then another, and when Crawford blinked, she had disappeared into the dark.</p>
<hr/><p>“Elliotson’s expired and soothing syrup production has ceased? Outrageous!” Philip Twopenny shouted, smacking his hand against the newspaper as though Crawford had not seen the headlines plastered over every major paper in London.</p><p>Despite the late hour and informality of the meeting, James Brudenell still wore his military uniform. “Frye intends to endanger all of London at the hands of the mob!” His characteristically ruddy face was an even deeper shade of plum red than usual.</p><p>“Perhaps, he doesn’t intend much of anything at all and is simply content to dice with our lives!” Twopenny continued, encouraged by Brudenell’s response.</p><p>If he were a less restrained person, Crawford might have ordered them both out of his office, propriety be damned. Mercifully, his butler Charles placed a silver tray on the large, teakwood desk in front of him and he thanked the man quietly as Charles poured a cup of tea from the Turkish porcelain pot.</p><p>“The asylum is shut up!” Brudenell said to Twopenny, his arms moving wildly as he spoke, “Medical care throughout the city is in disarray! He does not—<em>cannot</em> understand the consequences of his actions!” He grabbed the newspaper from Twopenny, holding it up to Crawford as he continued, “The man is clearly an anarchist!”</p><p>Enough was enough. “Gentleman,” Crawford began, selecting a cube of sugar and stirring it into his tea. He paused a moment to ensure both men were held sufficiently in suspense. “This tea was brought to me from India, by a ship, and up from the harbor to a factory, where it was packaged and ferried, by carriage, to my door.” He held the cup up to the two men, who despite their agitation both watched silently as he spoke. “Unpacked in the larder and brought upstairs to me. All by men and women who work for me.” Twopenny nodded slightly, but Brudenell’s expression was still markedly confused, and he continued, “Who are indebted to me, <em>Crawford Starrick</em>, for their jobs, their time, the very lives they lead. They will work in my factories and so too shall their children. And you come to me with talk of this Jacob Frye? This insignificant blemish who calls himself...assassin?”</p><p>The words were meant to soothe his lieutenants, but as he spoke the man’s name, it stirred memories old enough to have been forgotten entirely. He did hope his suspicions were incorrect, but really, how many Fryes could possibly be among the ranks of the British Brotherhood?</p><p>From her quiet stance in front of the pianoforte that dominated the corner of the room came Lucy Thorne, walking up behind Brudenell and Twopenny with the full weight of her presence in her footsteps.</p><p>Her approach dismissed the aside from his mind and he continued his quiet beratement of the men in front of his desk. “You disrespect the very city that works day and night so that we may drink this, this miracle, this tea.”</p><p>Lucy picked up the cup that Charles had poured for her and moved to Crawford’s side. The division between the parties on either side of the desk was not lost on him.</p><p>“I’m nearing the end of my research,” she said, the first words she had spoken aloud since Twopenny had called for a meeting, “Our beloved London shall not suffer such a bothersome fool for much longer.”</p><p>He would hardly reduce any Assassin day to a fool, much less one of Ethan Frye’s children. One of—he mentally sifted through the various reports from the leaders in the boroughs where the Blighters held control and fell upon the memory of the woman at the docks two nights prior.</p><p>“And what of his sister I’ve heard of, Miss Frye?” He couldn’t recall her name. He would have to try and find the letter Ethan had written when Cecily had first given birth. Before the two men had found out they were not just separated by distance, but ideals.</p><p>“Miss Frye,” Lucy repeated with a sneer, “Shall be gutted. Soon enough.”</p><p>Lucy’s declaration shouldn’t have come as a shock. Nor was it a shock really, but it came with a sudden surge of guilt, nonetheless. Crawford had only learned of Ethan’s death within the last month and now here he was, planning to put an end to his former friend’s children. Who were, undoubtedly, trying to put an end to him. The world did seem to deal quite heavily in irony.</p><p>“So that it is to be it?” Brudenell asked, aghast, “No further plans to deal with Frye?”</p><p>“That is it,” Crawford replied, “I trust you all will continue to serve the Order faithfully even with opposition. May the father of understanding guide you, friends.”</p><p>Brudenell bristled for a moment but followed in Twopenny's stead, who merely nodded and turned to slink out of the room. When the door closed behind them, he looked up to Lucy, who was watching the men leave with obvious distaste.</p><p>“Forget the Assassins,” she spat, “The Order will collapse trying to support the weight of so many simpletons who fancy themselves great men.”</p><p>He laughed silently. “We cannot estrange ourselves to the rest of the Order. Not when we are this close.”</p><p>“I’m aware,” she said, taking a long sip from her cup, “Though it is maddening.”</p><p>“Quite.” Crawford pushed back in his chair and stood, offering his arm to escort Lucy which she took after setting her teacup down on the sidebar. “I want you to focus on finding the Shroud. The Fryes are a distraction, one that will be easily remedied upon retrieving the piece of Eden.”</p><p>“I am close,” she said, her voice taking on an almost electric excitement, “I have reason to believe that the National Gallery may actually hold the key to finding the Shroud.”</p><p>“Then follow that lead and any other that presents itself,” Crawford replied, opening the door to his study.</p><p>Lucy let go of his arm and nodded. “London will be safe at last,” she said.</p><p>He smiled despite the gnawing reminder that he would have to find some way to remove her gently. She was the only one of his confidantes who seemed to care about the wellbeing of the city as much as he did. To the others in the Order, the lives of the people beneath them were pieces to be moved on the board, but Crawford had pulled the city from too much of its own refuse to have the same blasé approach.</p><p>Crawford shut the door behind him as he walked back into his study. Charles was busy extinguishing the gas lamps and Crawford held up a hand. “Not yet. I have one more thing I need to do.”</p><p>He went to the bookshelf to the left of his desk, retrieving a chest of mahogany he’d received as a gift from the sister of his favorite professor at Eton upon the man’s death. It now contained the correspondence he had kept from those of his classmates he hadn’t found entirely loathsome.</p><p>The chest smelled of wax and old paper. The yellowing and cracked papers were familiar beneath his fingers as he sorted through the letters until he came to a bundle tied with a thin, green ribbon. These, he had kept in spite of himself, though he determined he would never read them again.</p><p>Crawford pulled the second-to-last letter from the bundle and unfolded it carefully, the wide script scrawled across the page calling forth a familiar ache:</p><p>
  <em>Crawford,</em>
</p><p><em>I apologize for not responding to your last letter sooner, but at least today I have happy news. Crawley has been quite hectic these last few months for Cecily and I, and she’s given birth a little early, though both babies were born a healthy size. Yes, both. It turns out that we’ve been given more than we bargained for, though of course, we are only the more delighted for having two new additions to the family. </em> <em>Jacob and Evelyn. Or as Cecily is insisting, Evie. I'm not sure my grandmother would be so fond of that abbreviation, but I would be remiss to argue with a woman like my wife.</em></p><p>The letter continued after that, but he wasn't inclined to read the rest. Jacob and Evelyn. When Crawford had learned of Cecily’s death and subsequently of Ethan’s affiliation with the British Assassins, he had never heard more of their whereabouts. But of course, Ethan would have raised them after his own tradition within the Brotherhood.</p><p>Evie Frye.</p><p>He didn’t believe in fate, at least in the sense of the word that events in the universe were known and unmovable. Still, as he tied the letters back up and replaced the chest, and told Charles to continue extinguishing the lamps, he found himself wondering if such a thing could exist, if only so that he could have something other than himself to blame.</p><p>After all, it was certainly a cruel stroke of bitter irony that after so many years of putting Ethan away from his mind, he was now forced to put an end to his memory once and for all.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Overture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As she had done so many times in the past, Evie stood outside the door to her father's bedroom, where he and George Westhouse were speaking in hushed tones, her ear pressed to the elaborately carved wood. Usually, she would be eavesdropping outside her father's office, ready to dash back to her bedroom at a moment's notice at the sound of approaching footsteps. Now though, it wasn't her father's footsteps that sent a ripple of panic through her—it was his voice interrupted by the long fit of hacking coughs that, even muffled by the door, caused Evie to flinch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard the creaking of wood and then George's voice. "Just breathe, Ethan."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence save for her father's labored breathing before he spoke. "It's getting worse," he said darkly, "I don't know how much longer I have."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie's heart seemed to stutter in her chest. She and Jacob had been exchanging knowing glances for days, finding what little solemn comfort they could in the other's presence. Or at least, Evie did. Jacob's method of coping involved far less sobriety. While Jacob was out in the city, as he was that evening, Evie tended to lay awake in her bed for hours on end, pressing her pillow against her ears to try and drown out both the sounds of her father's worsening condition and the perpetual shrieking in her own head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They aren't ready, George," Ethan Frye said softly, so softly Evie almost missed his words, "There's still so much I need to teach them. I can't be responsible for another Jayadeep."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I won't let that happen," George assured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jayadeep Mir, her father's former protégé. It wasn't often that Evie heard his name, but she had snuck into her father's office once, as a teenager, and found a reference to the man in a letter. He was an assassin her father had trained while she and Jacob were raised by their grandmother. After reading the letter, it made sense why Ethan so rarely spoke of him: he had been executed for betraying the Brotherhood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did her father think that she was somehow a threat to the Creed? She pulled her arms tight around her chest and leaned against the door, desperate not to miss any part of their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't do enough for him. I haven't done enough for them, either, but I don't have—" he broke off into another round of coughing, struggling to breathe as he finished "—I don't have the time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of weight shifting across the floorboards filtered through the door. "I'll get you something to drink," George murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his words registered, Evie shrank back into the shadows of the alcove outside her father's room, turning her head so that her dark hair would conceal her pale skin. The door opened and she froze, holding her breath as George ambled past, down the stairwell to the lower floors. Only when she could no longer hear his footsteps did she let herself relax, releasing her aching lungs with a heavy sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed her head against the wall, looking at the door to her father's room. It stood slightly ajar and she could hear him moving from within. When the doctor first diagnosed Ethan with pleurisy, no one in their little family had been awfully concerned, and even the doctor himself had assured them that most people made a full recovery. But as Evie had watched her father's condition degrade through the small glimpses she was allowed amidst Ethan shutting her and her brother out, she had quickly realized that this was no simple complication from the flu. She hadn't brought it up with anyone besides Jacob, who had immediately hushed her with the insistence that he couldn't handle anything else, but Evie knew from the second week that Ethan had been sick that he had tuberculosis—and it was going to kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie spent a long moment staring at the crack of light through the open door. Her father probably thought it was best that the twins didn't see him in his state, but it had been much harder not to be able to sit at his side with George. At least then, she could feel as though she was doing something productive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, she exhaled slowly and pushed open the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father's face was gaunt, eyes and cheeks hollowed by sickness. Traces of blood remained on his lips as well as flecked onto his shirt, which was soaked through with sweat. She hugged herself even tighter as she approached his bedside and when he looked up at the sound of her footsteps, his face fell into an expression of dismay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Evie, I asked you not to come in here," he said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't respond. She sat down at the chair that had been drawn up to the side of the bed, casting her gaze to the polished wood floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Evie, please. I don't want you to see me like this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why not?" She whispered. "I can handle it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course you can," he replied gently, "But I don't want this to be how you remember me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"At least I would have something to remember."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ethan pressed his lips together in a tight line, an expression that reminded her of Jacob. They were so similar, she marveled at the fact that Jacob had always chafed against his lessons. Although perhaps that similarity was the cause of their discord. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to meet her father's gaze. "Can I ask a question?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Always." He put a hand on her shoulder and she tilted her head down against the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What makes you say I'm not ready?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knit his brows together. "Not ready?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured vaguely. "Ready. To be an assassin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed through his nose. "You were listening, weren't you?" When she looked away, he swore incoherently under his breath. "I suppose I am the one who taught you to skulk around the house. I thought you'd outgrown that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile tugged at her lips, but Evie pressed on. "But why? I am skilled, you've said as much yourself. What more could you want to teach me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes. "I've said before that taking the life of another person is—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Different in practice than theory, yes," Evie finished his oft-repeated mantra. It wasn't though. It was just the cold, calculating movement of a blade, a heart that stopped beating and lungs that stopped breathing. Of course, he didn't know that she had already killed a man, but still, there was a hint of condescension that grated on her nerves. "We are adults. You went on your first mission when you were sixteen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our life isn't something to wish for, Evie," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But it is our life. If you didn't want us to become Assassins, you shouldn't have raised us as Assassins."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain flickered across his face. "It's a decision I've questioned every day of my life."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I haven't," Evie persisted, "I want to carry on your work, father."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hopefully, you won't have to carry on anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a withering look. "Don't pretend like you're all right. You know as well as I what's coming." Perhaps that was too harsh of her, but if she spoke plainly about her father dying, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when it finally happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, defeated, and leaned back, resting his chin on a closed fist as he regarded her with a sad smile. "You are so much like your mother."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blushed slightly. He meant it as a compliment, but Evie had never known her mother beyond stories, so the words were devoid of any real meaning. "I'm also a lot like you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ethan laughed. "That you are. The best of both of us. Although you definitely inherited my stubborn streak."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just one of the many virtues of being a Frye," Evie replied, lifting her chin with mock haughtiness. She forced herself to keep her smile on her face, even though her heart ached with the thought that this conversation would be one of the last of their kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father's laughter stalled abruptly and he took one of her hands between his own. "I want you to remember Evie, that you are more than an Assassin. You are more than the Brotherhood."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile dimmed in confusion and she gave a breathy laugh. "Well, of course."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. You're not Atlas, Evie. You carry the world on your shoulders but for your sake you must remember when I'm no longer here that you do not always need to bear that burden." There was a fervent ardor in his eyes that caught her by surprise. Usually, he taught with a glint of his customary sardonicism in his eyes, but now, he seemed to be desperate to be understood. "Promise me that you will be more than your responsibility. For your own sake, you must be."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked a few times, her breath catching in her throat. Evie found herself strangely on the brink of tears. "I'm not sure I understand."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You may not understand it now, but you will one day," Ethan said again, grasping her hand tighter. "And when you do, promise me that you will find some happiness for yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I...I promise," Evie stammered, feeling a little dizzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That appeared to satisfy him and he nodded again, leaning back to rest against the headboard. Evie watched him, her questions burning, unspoken, on her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You," she heard the gravelly voice of George Westhouse from the door and she looked up to see him holding a tray. "Out," he ordered, jerking his head to the hall behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie wanted to protest, but she knew better than to push him. She stood up and placed a gently kiss on her father's forehead. He smiled at her once again as George took the seat she had vacated. As she made her way out into the hallway, closing the door behind her, she glanced back at her father. In only a few weeks’ time, he had transformed from the steadfast and sure soldier to a shell of his former self, but it wasn't his physical appearance that really bothered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ethan had always been a man to look to the future, something he'd impressed upon Evie and Jacob as they grew up under his tutelage. He was saying his final peace, trying to soothe anxieties and regrets, which spoke vastly more to Evie about his health than any physical change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it was that the next morning, she and Jacob sat at the dining room table, each dressed in their Assassin's uniforms as a twisted homage to a new chapter, waiting as they listened to their father's tortured fits of coughing from upstairs grow more and more frequent until at last, there was silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie's eyes were wide as she gripped Jacob's hand and he laced their fingers together as George Westhouse descended the stairway to tell them what they both already knew.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Evie pressed her back against one of the brick columns that supported the tunnel running beneath London Bridge station. A few feet to her left, Aleck Bell was totally absorbed in disabling the telegraph system, leaving Evie to ensure both of their survival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Survival that was under imminent threat, as she counted four of Starrick's lackeys making their way towards the telegraph station, pistols and brass knuckles already on full display. Evie hefted the small bomb in her hand, gauging the distance they were quickly closing. The voltaic charge wouldn't be enough to kill them outright, unfortunately, but it would provide her the few seconds she needed to gain an edge on her attackers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lobbed the metal casing around the side of the column and heard it clatter against the ground before engaging, the sound of crackling electricity humming across the ground mingling with the pained screams of the Templar thugs. Evie allowed herself a small smile as she darted out from behind the brick wall and sprinted towards the four figures groaning and trying to re-orient themselves. It was too late for that, however. As the last of the group regained his senses, Evie struck, tensing the muscles in her forearm and ejecting her hidden blade into the throat of the nearest Templar. She pulled her arm to the side viciously, ripping the woman's throat out before pivoting and bringing the hooked crest of her cane down on the next man's head. He stumbled back, stunned, and the final two Templars squared in front of Evie, one raising his gun and the other falling into a fighting stance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was a domain of familiarity for Evie Frye, forged and tempered by the greatest Master Assassin the British Brotherhood had ever seen, at least according to George Westhouse. Evie smiled and rolled her shoulders back. Then, she threw her weight back and kicked the man to her left in the chest, hearing the snap of bones as she brought her leg back down. She ducked beneath the fist of the man to her right and used her momentum to swipe at his leg, knocking him to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, boys, I've not even broken a sweat," she couldn't resist saying, an easy smile forming on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man she had stunned had gotten back on his feet and barreled towards her, arms outstretched to try to tackle her to the ground. She sidestepped and as he stumbled past, she caught him in the sternum with her hidden blade. He let out a gurgling death rattle and collapsed. Evie retracted her blade and separated the two halves of her cane sword. As the two remaining Templars flanked her, she crossed her arms in front of her before slamming them back out into each of their chests. They both screamed in pain as she pulled the two hooked blades up viciously, her victims' blood spattering on the cobblestones below even as her own pumped vigorously through her body at the sudden rush of adrenaline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I say, this is becoming rather perilous, isn't it?" She heard Aleck say. The slight man had appeared behind her, the carnage around them apparently not impacting his broad smile. "Come on, the other lines are in this section," he said, gesturing to the office on the opposite side of the tunnel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie nodded and followed him into the maze of desks and boards. Aleck, for his part, seemed to know exactly what he was doing and began working at the next telegraph line, making small commentary on Starrick's propaganda. The man certainly was a character, but he was so jovial and kind that Evie wasn't bothered by his idiosyncrasies. Smart too, smart enough to pinpoint one of the critical ways that Starrick and the rest of the Order influenced the people of London and contrive a plan to stop it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must have been important because Evie spotted another group of Templar thugs approaching. She cursed. "Keep working, Aleck. I'll make sure they stay off of you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right you are, Miss Frye!" He called without looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie dispatched the second group with more ease than the first. The three men only managed to fire off two rounds between them before she slammed into the group with all the force of a locomotive engine. She buried her hidden blade into one man's eye, pushed him away, and used the motion to plant a knife in another's chest. She followed up with the set of brass knuckles on her other hand and the man went reeling away. The third Templar growled at her, but was cut short as she swiped at him with her cane sword, the knife at the bottom snagging on his shirt and ripping through both skin and fabric. Evie reached for another knife and this one planted itself firmly into the man's throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three more Templars eliminated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aleck had moved to a third box and Evie watched him work for a moment, mystified. How on earth did he keep all those little wires and gears straight in his head? She supposed it was like any other puzzle—work at it long enough and the shapes and pieces become second nature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Almost finished, Miss Frye," he said cheerily. Evie opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she heard the sound of heavy boots descending the stone staircase just outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More?" She asked the air wearily and hefted her cane once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third group made their way to the bottom of the staircase and she cut the first man down. Evie let fly a vicious right hook into the jaw of the woman closest to her and she turned to deliver another blow to the last Templar thug when another man turned around the corner. She froze, recognition and alarm jarring her in place. The two other Templars who had engaged her stopped as well and from her peripheral vision, she could see Aleck standing from behind the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's enough," Crawford Starrick said, nodding to his two lackeys, who stepped back from Evie to fall into formation around their master. She didn't relax from her fighting stance as Starrick regarded her, his bright blue eyes shining even in the dim light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "Mr. Bell, how do you do?" He asked softly, "A shame that you're here wasting your talents on vagrants when you could be working for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sod off, Starrick, you old git," Aleck snapped and Evie shot him a wide-eyed look of warning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aleck!" She hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And the famous Miss Frye, I presume," Starrick continued, his low voice sending a tremor down her back. There was something richly charismatic and deeply unsettling in his tone. "You and your brother have made quite a name for yourself despite being in London for only three weeks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, we aim to impress," Evie said sardonically, tightening her grip on her cane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Starrick looked between her and Aleck. "I have no great desire to kill either of you, so I will ask you once to leave."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How magnanimous," Evie retorted, "A pity we'll have to decline."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Indeed it is a pity," Starrick said and gestured to the men at his side. The Templars moved to draw their weapons, but Evie was faster. She ejected her hidden blade and gutted one man, bringing out her pistol from within her leather duster and firing a shot point-blank into the second man's chest. She spun a final time to aim the smoking barrel of her gun to Starrick's chest and stiffened. The cold muzzle of Starrick's own revolver pressed against her head. They were deadlocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie let out a shaky breath, looking up at Starrick with a mixture of rage and poorly concealed terror. Even if they both fired, Starrick would have some chance of survival, where she would die instantly. Even in a stalemate, he had a fair advantage should he decide to gamble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss Frye," he said, a smirk pulling at his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mr. Starrick," she replied, putting as much venom into his name as she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We seem to find ourselves at an impasse." He spoke calmly, with a hint of amusement in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled her thumb taut against the hammer of her revolver. "So it would seem." At her side, she could see Aleck frozen to the spot and set her jaw. "Aleck, run."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to leave you!" He protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get out of here!" She thundered, and Aleck, thankfully, obeyed. He picked up his small bundle of tools and backed away, his gaze locked on the two of them until he turned around the corner and disappeared from sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shall you shoot first, or shall I?" Evie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Starrick's smile vanished, his now cold glare sweeping across her face. This was a man whose intelligence was borne on his face, and even in her few moments face-to-face with the man, Evie understood why it was he who had been chosen to lead the Templar Order. She could only hope that she exuded some similarly imposing countenance, though she doubted it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure it has not escaped your notice," he said at last, "That I hold you at a slight disadvantage, Miss Frye."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It has not." What goal was he trying to achieve by this? Was he trying to frighten her into lowering her pistol so that he would have a clear shot at her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Starrick watched her for another long moment in which Evie's heart hammered against her chest, her throat constricting. Then, Starrick pulled the gun away from her forehead and lowered it to his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tightened her grip on the handle of the pistol, her eyes going wide. She had an unobstructed shot now, the ability to kill the Templar Grandmaster literally within her grasp. If it had been Jacob in this deadlock, Starrick would already be dead. But she was not her brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, trying to anticipate any sudden movement from Starrick, Evie lowered her gun as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How invigorating," Starrick said, the words slow and deliberate as though he were tasting the sounds as they rolled off his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn't exactly the word Evie would have chosen. Gut-wrenching or terrifying were more accurate descriptions of the way her insides seemed to be jumbling themselves into knots. This wasn't a thought she was keen to voice aloud, however, so she simply remained silent, watching Starrick with cold contempt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another long silence, he spoke. "Might I inquire as to why you and Mr. Bell feel the need to destroy my communications systems?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a slight step back, still holding her pistol at the ready. "You have a bad habit of posting lies in your newspapers, Mr. Starrick," she replied evenly, "Like the assurance to the public that Elliotson's death won't have any effect on the state of their medical care?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps you should have considered that before murdering the doctor, then."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Jacob, perhaps you should have</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "That doesn't matter. By publishing those things, you're putting people in danger."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Am I?" He quirked the side of his mouth into a smile. "Tell me, Miss Frye, what do you would happen if a story were run that without consistent production of soothing syrup that counterfeit medicines had flooded the market? Do you think the masses would react calmly?" He tucked his revolver into a holster concealed by his squared jacket and his deliberate disarming himself struck Evie as rather condescending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think you have a very low opinion of the people you're claiming to help," Evie shot back. She debated holstering her own weapon but decided against it. Starrick could put on airs all he liked—she wasn't about to be caught defenseless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed thoughtfully. "You speak from idealism. I speak from experience. Poor Miss Nightingale would be overrun with fanatics if people thought they were in danger."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But people are in danger now," Evie insisted, moving towards him again instinctually. What was her goal here? She and Aleck had done what they came to do and the immediate threat was gone. The smart thing to do would be to leave now, before the situation escalated to a point where she could no longer control it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Again, something you may want to consider the next time you decide to kill one of my lieutenants." He sounded almost on the verge of laughter, and Evie regarded him warily. Was he concealing his true feelings about Elliotson's death, or did he really care so little about the man? "It appears the assassins, as always, suffer the penalty of too much haste."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, bloody fantastic, now he was quoting Plato at her. "What's your game, Starrick?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I imagine the same as you," he said, turning to face the bustling street outside the telegraph station. "I would like to bring as much good to as many people as possible. To improve the lives of London's citizens."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Forgive me if I question your methods."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Forgive me if I question yours." The riposte hung in the air until Starrick idly pulled a pocket watch from his pocket and he clucked his tongue. "Duty calls, Miss Frye. If I may offer some advice—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You may </span>
  <em>
    <span>not,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" she snapped, but he continued as though he hadn't heard her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Consider what you can do to minimize the fallout of your actions thus far. After all, you seem quite adamant that people should not be put in danger." With that, he turned on his heel and began to climb the stairway he had arrived from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie blinked a few times, making a wordless sound of indignation as he disappeared up onto the station platform. All at once, the absurdity and the shock of the encounter hit her like a blow to the chest. She had been face-to-face with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crawford Starrick</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the only harm that had come to her was a slight offense. To be fair, he had bodyguards who'd tried to kill her, but he had lowered his weapon first. And despite the fact that she, or rather, Jacob, had destroyed one of his primary industries less than two days prior, he didn't seem to be angry. No, he appeared rather amused by the whole affair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slipped her pistol into the holster on her belt and pulled the collar of her jacket up as she stepped down from the telegraph office. Within a fraction of a second, she was set upon by a thoroughly rattled Aleck Bell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh dear Lord!" He shouted, throwing his arms around her. Evie stiffened and drew back, but Aleck didn't seem to notice. "I wasn't sure how you were going to get out that,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gently pulled his arms from around her shoulders and murmured through gritted teeth, "Honestly, I'm not sure how I did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aleck shook his head. "Still, we've come out on top," he said, throwing a fist in the air. His smile and enthusiasm were so infectious, Evie found herself smiling in spite of herself. "At the very least we've stalled Starrick's operations with the press for the next few days."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie laughed and followed Aleck as he sauntered happily back to his carriage, though if Aleck had been paying attention, he might have noticed that her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She replayed the encounter with Starrick again and again in her mind, trying to recall every last detail. Was there something she'd missed in his behavior? There was a nagging worry that his banter wasn't as innocent as it initially appeared, but she couldn't place what about it bothered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob wasn't nearly as inattentive as Aleck Bell. No sooner had they left his workshop then Jacob pulled her aside. "What happened?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She briefly recounted the fight with Starrick's men and his oddly diplomatic approach to conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It sounds like you got lucky," Jacob insisted when she had finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded absentmindedly. She'd neglected to mention Starrick's suggestion that she try to mend the consequences of Jacob's actions. That was an argument she didn't feel like having at the moment. She was in a state of enough conflict as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob, thankfully, took the reins through the streets of Lambeth. He chatted idly, jeering at pedestrians and other carriages under his breath, but Evie wasn't paying attention to him. The familiarity in the conversation was only one of the oddities in Starrick's behavior. It just wasn't something she would expect from a Templar and much less the Grandmaster to </span>
  <em>
    <span>let an assassin go</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Especially after holding her at gunpoint. True, he wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger, but he seemed so confident as he lowered his weapon that she would as well. Like he knew that she wasn't after his life, not yet anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Jacob slowed their carriage to a stop outside of Waterloo station where they had agreed to meet Agnes with the train, Evie could only reach two logical conclusions.  Either he didn't see her as enough of a threat to warrant maintaining their deadlock...or for whatever his reasons, he wanted her alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the life of her, she couldn't imagine why it would be the latter. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mmm anyway, Aleck is autistic, you can pry that from my cold, dead hands.<br/>Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully, you've enjoyed the first couple of chapters so far and I hope you'll stick around for more. I'd love to hear any thoughts you have thus far, as I am a writer and thus thrive off of validation. o/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Étude a Deux</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>London was so much more beautiful at night. In the dark, interrupted only by the soft moonlight and hazy glow of the gas street lamps, Evie could imagine that the world around her wasn't one of misery and corruption. In the daylight hours, when she walked along the Strand or through the streets of Lambeth like she had that evening, she was ever-reminded of the fact that her belly was full, her pockets were lined, and her clothes were mended. The children begging in the street and women desperately hiking up their skirts to appeal to some passing stranger while their husbands spent their days in the choking smog of London's factories was a stark contrast to the clean boulevards of Westminster and Chelsea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the nighttime, Evie could breathe easier. Or, as easy as one could breathe in the eternal miasma of the city. Although even growing up in Crawley, the dark hours had always been a kind of safety for her. It provided cover for stealth, it made an ideal time for sneaking out. And growing up, it was when she could relax, knowing that if Jacob came home at some ungodly hour another screaming match between him and their father would be avoided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She exhaled slowly and leaned her head back against the brick walls of the Bethlem Royal Hospital, letting her eyes close. Her racing heartbeat had more or less settled with a few deep breaths as she tried to assure the part of her brain still screaming in a panic that Clara O'Dea would be fine. There was doubt that she was in good care. Although, Evie still felt at least partially responsible for the young girl's predicament in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Florence Nightingale had assured Evie that she would oversee the distribution of proper medication to the children of Babylon Alley, though Evie had insisted that the woman contact her if she needed assistance. It was a responsibility she could pass on to Jacob, maybe, to give him a sense of the consequences of his own actions for once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie opened her battered pocket watch and squinted at the tiny roman numerals beneath the cracked glass. It would be at least another three hours before the train would arrive at Waterloo station, according to the schedule Agnes had given her for the day, and she didn't feel like making the trek to some far-reaching part of the city. She supposed she could lift a carriage, but she wasn't in any hurry. After the chaotic drive in her desperate rescue mission, she'd had quite enough driving, especially since one particularly nasty impact with a parked hansom had jolted up through the muscles of her leg hard enough that she was already feeling sore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after all, this was London. The streets were not empty by any stretch of the word. She took off at a brisk pace, following her internal compass through winding roads and back alleys in the general direction of the station. One could always tell when they were getting closer because the sounds of whistles and vendors grew louder with every step. As she made her way into a more populated area of the city—shockingly, not many people were eager to set up shop near Bedlam—raucous laughter and drunken shanties poured out of the pubs on every corner, breathing life into the otherwise desolate darkness of the city's inhabitants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she passed a particularly noisy building where little baubles had been strung up in the window, casting colorful specks of light on the sidewalks outside, Evie froze in her tracks. Entering the pub were a group of men, two wearing the red, patterned coats of the Blighters, and the third in a duster with a conspicuous red cross stitched into his coat. </span>
  <span>Thankfully, they didn’t seem to notice her, and the traces of a conversation filtered the few feet to where she stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"—Gordon isn't too pleased with her or her brother," the Blighter thug said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mr. Gordon," the Templar corrected, "But yes, there's bound to be some hell raised. I’m not looking forward to a row anymore than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie ran through the list of influential Templars in London, trying to match the name to a dossier. Most likely, they were talking about Edwin Gordon, who held sway over the press. Sway, in this case, being blatant blackmail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they were working for one of Starrick’s underlings, then. In a split-second decision, Evie altered her course after them. The three men immediately claimed a back table and she made her way to the counter. The bartender gave her a raised eyebrow as she approached, although it wasn't an uncommon reaction to her appearance. He abandoned his skepticism when she put a few coins on the counter and asked for Bourbon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation of the three men she’d followed was barely audible over the slurred singing of the patrons crowded around the man boisterously playing the pianoforte with a woman of comfort on his lap. Still, she managed to pick up enough to put together their meaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about the meeting tomorrow? You know Gordon'll try to get ol’ Nora to fall in line again,” the Blighter said, “At least that should provide some entertainment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nora is the kind of wild card Gordon so detests,” one of the Templars replied, "Perhaps he should focus on maintaining Mr. Starrick's newspaper's credibility rather than off on some damned fools errand to assert authority over one of Roth's favorites."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ain't that the age-old struggle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's only run the borough for two years, I'd hardly call that age-old,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter," the third man said with a chuckle, "Maybe they'll have a good tiff of both sorts and we can finally get back to business."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what business is that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third raised a glass. "The Frye's heads on fucking pikes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie’s grip tightened on her glass. It was hardly the first time she’d ever received a death threat—it was an occupational hazard—but something about the way he spoke sent a shudder up her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Jacob had perhaps grown a little complacent in their success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the grim declaration, the men’s conversation circled around from politics to weather, other arbitrary topics that gave Evie time to think. A meeting between Edwin Gordon, Bloody Nora, and who knew how many other Templars?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had enough on her mind without a new target to track, but Aleck was right that Starrick’s influence over the press was a large part of his control in London. It was a tempting route to follow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the Blighters announced loudly that this round was his last, bemoaning the early hour he needed to be up. A pity, Evie thought drily, that a man had to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to cause absolute mayhem. Evie nodded her thanks to the bartender before standing again and making her way to the plaza outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed herself into the shadows of the alley behind the pub, waiting with her arms crossed over her chest as various patrons left. Then, finally, the broad-shouldered thug crossed the threshold. She fell into step behind him from a fair distance, her awareness heightened to any potential tails she may have gained for her own. No one seemed to be following her, though, which gave her the opportunity to attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silently, she closed the gap between the Blighter and herself before snapping her hidden blade out to its full length and pressing the edge against the man's back. He froze as she whispered coolly, "There's a tunnel up ahead to your left. You're going to walk calmly into it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who the hell do you think you are?" The man said, indignant, but as he tried to turn around, Evie pushed the blade further into his back, tearing a slight hole in the fabric. The edges of the rip quickly stained with blood. "Hey! All right, fine! I'm walking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once inside the tunnel, Evie grabbed the man's arm and spun him around, pinning him to the wall. He was a good head and a half taller than her, but she had the advantage of a knife to his chest. He scowled. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The devil? No. My brother and I? That's another story," Evie retorted, a smirk growing on her face. "Now, I'd like some information about this Gordon fellow. You mentioned a meeting?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man's expression turned dark. "Fuck off."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not yet," Evie said, snapping her hidden blade up so that the point was held firmly against the hollow of his throat, "I'd quite like to attend this meeting. Where will it be held?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued holding a stoic expression until Evie began to slowly drag the tip of her blade up his throat, a shallow line of red appearing along its path. When she'd reach the soft flesh beneath his jaw, he whimpered and held up his free hand. "I don't know! I don't know, please!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, you don't know? Rather stupid way to arrange things."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, really!" He appeared as though he was trying to shrink into the brick wall behind him, "G-Gordon doesn't give us the know until day-of, I swear!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie's nostrils flared. "Is there any reason I should keep you alive then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The-the-the man I was with, prat with the fancy coat? He's one of Gordon's friends." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you aren’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, I’m not that important. Not important enough to kill at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> His desperation was starting to annoy her. “I’ll consider letting you live if you offer something </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can use</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Strand!” The man gasped out, “He meets Gordon at an underground in the Strand, betting on fights and things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And wasn’t she lucky that she knew a particular bookie who just might be coerced into helping? "I suppose I'll take your place at future meetings then," she said to the Blighter drily. Then, she drove the blade into the man's throat and stepped back. Blood poured down his neck as he clutched at the wound, sliding down against the wall pathetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie watched him coldly. Protocol demanded that she strike again, a faster, cleaner death, but it felt good to take out her frustration on something. Besides which, the man in front of her was nearly dead. In a final, choked death rattle he rasped, "We'll fucking kill you both! Mark my words." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chin slumped forward against his chest and Evie wiped her blade clean on his jacket. She debated hiding the body but decided against it. The bobbies wouldn't be particularly upset to find a body if it were a Blighter. Lord knew she caused enough trouble they turned a blind eye to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie tried to be surreptitious as she glanced into the window of the pub to the table where the men had been meeting, but realized to her dismay that it had been filled with other patrons. In following the Blighter thug, she'd lost her opportunity to learn more about Gordon's meeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the evening wasn’t a total loss. She'd managed to repair some of the damage Jacob had done and had a lead on a new target, though all that meant was more work. More research, more reading the same dockets over and over, trying to glean some information as to how she might go about dispatching Edwin Gordon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, back to the ridiculous book and hunk of metal that were her only clues in the search for the Shroud of Eden. At least in that respect, she had Henry to help her, so it wasn't as arduous a task. None of it really mattered right then, she mused. As soon as she was back on the train, she was going to sleep.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>"Back again from the wilds of London!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie flinched at her brother's voice, grating and loud in the otherwise quiet second passenger car of the train hideout. "Good evening, brother dear," she replied, rolling her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze found Henry, who had been reading quietly in the chair at Agnes' desk, but who now looked up at her with a soft expression. His smile was full of genuine warmth that took some of the tension out of her shoulders. At least someone gave her half a mind. "Welcome back," he said gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob made an exaggerated noise of disgust and Evie turned, batting his top hat off his head with the back of her hand. "You know, wearing that won't make you any taller."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth dropped open in mock hurt, pressing a hand to his chest. "How dare you. I am a man of many grand qualities!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that what you're calling your dick, now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry let out a sharp laugh and ducked his head to his book to try and cover it. Jacob looked quickly between the two of them, then gave Evie a conspiratorial look. She pointed a finger sternly at his chest. "Stop it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob held up his hands. "Truth dies when it's silenced, Evie," he said, "Isn't that one of your favorites of Father's many pearls of wisdom?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, the sting to her father's journals hurt more than usual. She gave him a withering look as Henry chimed in. “Ethan did always seem to have some profound saying or other, didn't he? Always the idealist.” His words were accompanied by a smile tinged with sadness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob gave a low wail. "Bloody excellent, there's two of you now!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie was no longer paying attention. She turned to Henry sharply. "Say that again?" It had pulled at something in her memory she couldn't place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry knit his eyebrows in confusion. “Your father was an idealist? It was something he said in a letter once, that the ideals of the Brotherhood were often in conflict to the way we actually go about our work."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie's eyes flitted back and forth across nothing until she hit upon the answer and her eyes went wide. "Starrick!" she said, with a note of triumph.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bastard?" Jacob interjected, unhelpful as usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. "No, shut up. He said...at London Bridge station today, with Aleck...I knew it sounded familiar, but I didn’t make the connection to Father." God, had that really been the same day? It felt like eons prior, but no, it was Starrick who had initially pushed Evie to visit Bedlam in the wake of Jacob's foolhardy assassination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> about?” Jacob asked</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie paused. The revelation seemed a little silly, spoken aloud, considering she had no proof. She could hardly even remember what Starrick’s exact words were, given that her priority was the gun trained to her head. She shrugged wearily. "Perhaps it just...reminded me of Father." Even as she spoke, she knew it wasn't true, but she had little desire to explain herself further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry gave a thoughtful hum. "You could write to George Westhouse. I’m sure he would be happy to go through your father’s writings for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shot Henry an appreciative smile. "An excellent suggestion, Mr. Green.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob smirked as he sing-songed “Yes isn’t it, Evie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as she resolved not to let her brother get under her skin so easily. “I have some things I need you both to look into. Tomorrow, though. For now, I am going to bed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alone?" Jacob asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes again, not wanting to dignify the suggestion with a response, but she still blushed slightly and deliberately avoided Henry’s gaze. Her brother was intolerable, especially with her nerves so shot from the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie gave Jacob a rude gesture as she left the car, but once she was faced with her cluttered desk of papers and ear-marked books, any remaining humor vanished entirely, replaced again with the weight of her many tasks. No matter how quickly she worked, she never seemed to make significant progress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Jacob had the gall to imply her endeavors were fruitless. Freeing London from Templar rule was about more than simply removing key players. It was about long term solutions, laws and politics and unions that would ensure the Templars weren’t simply replaced by another power-hungry faction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why couldn’t he see that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idealism is the enemy of experience. That was what Starrick had said and she could feel the weight of some truth in it. She was every bit the idealist as her brother and their parents before them, but how many times had the Assassins failed by limiting their focus to a narrow scope?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie let her jacket fall to the ground unceremoniously and closed the doors on both ends of the car before pulling off her outer layers of clothing, kicking them to the side in a haphazard pile that grew almost as quickly as the monumental task before her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, when she closed her eyes, sinking back in relief against her pillows, it was neither her duty to London nor her brother’s flippancy that came to mind. Rather, it was the echo of a voice that sent a chill down her back as he spoke words that Evie almost, </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> found herself agreeing with.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lmao hi I'm back, I was busy shipping incest and recovering from the plague  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ostinato</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Huge thanks to UngarnMoc, without whom the rest of this story probably would never have happened. Definitely go check em out &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Pearl Attaway's carriage stood out from the rest of the dingy cabs that patrolled the streets of London for passengers, both the smartly dressed driver and the glistening details along the sides confidently displaying its owner's wealth. As well it should--Jacob counted no less than three of Attaway's omnibuses within eyesight, all loaded with laborers making their evening commute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though perhaps that driver should be replaced with someone more competent, Jacob mused as he reached for the door of the carriage. After all, Jacob had no issue with slipping onto the runner board unnoticed. He pulled the carriage door open and swung inside, met with the vocal evidence of Miss Attaway's shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mr. Frye," she snapped, her tone surprisingly calm for Jacob's rude entry, "I told you to make an appointment."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob gave her tightly fitted dress an appreciative once-over before replying with a smirk, "My schedule was open."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pearl regarded him before a sly smile crept onto her face. "You're fortunate I like you." With an elongated eye-roll, she reached into a pocket and retrieved a small piece of paper, which she handed to Jacob. He scanned down the memo, arrival and departure times for various trains from various stations, along with a brief notation of their cargo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Internal combustion engines?" He read aloud. Jacob could piece together what the engines would be for, but he'd never seen one in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eight small syllables that mean a great deal of money," Pearl replied evenly, "The engines will be delivered to Milner by train. Secure them for me and he will be...devastated."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn't sure he liked the emphasis she placed on the last word, though Jacob had come to assume quickly his arrangement with Miss Attaway was careening towards the eventual assassination of her rival. "I'll need a second train to pull this off," Jacob murmured, his mind already spinning with a developing plan, "And I think I know just the man."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob tucked the train schedule into his coat pocket, but as he moved to open the carriage door, Pearl grabbed his arm. Her face was inches from his, her dark eyes glittering, "So we have a deal, Mr Frye?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn if the woman didn't stir </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>in him. Attraction, maybe not, but there was no denying that she had an intoxicating kind of charisma, enough to match his own. Jacob winked. "You're lucky I like you, Miss Attaway." Then, he pushed out of the carriage before she could reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob watched the carriage pull away, folding his arms over his chest. Scheming with Pearl sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, the thrill of the chase that he had desperately missed amidst all of Evie and Westhouse's carefully laid plans. He felt like an Assassin again, rather than some stuffed up puppet dancing around at the will of a shadowy council who couldn't even be bothered to give London a second chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The council could go to hell. Jacob had the means, the Rooks, and most importantly for this particular caper, Jacob had Ned Wynert.</span>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>A week had passed since Evie’s encounter with Starrick at the station and still, she was no closer to finding either Gordon or the Shroud of Eden. The small metal circle she had recovered from the Kenway Mansion sat on her desk, like it was mocking her for her lack of progress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Robert Topping had been more willing to comply than the enigmatic lump of metal, even if skulking around the fight club in The Strand had yielded few results. She’d seen the Templar from the pub twice, but he was always alone and never seemed to meet anyone else. Edwin Gordon had distinctive features in the photograph in his dossier—sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a jagged scar running the length of his jaw. If Gordon was having clandestine meetings at the club, then he had yet to appear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was to be an extended effort, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat down heavily in the armchair across from her bed, suppressing a yawn. Days without adequate rest were beginning to take their toll, and thoughts she’d rather stay buried were resurfacing. She knew her father had been trying to free London from Templar control her entire life, but the stall in her progress was starting to grate on her nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying, Father,” she said to the empty car, burying her face in her hands, “I’m trying so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe George had been right. Liberating London was foolhardy, reckless, dangerous. Certainly a task that would require more than the skills of three Assassins hardly past their teenage years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would Ethan Frye do in her place? It always took cajoling to get her father to talk about himself when he was their age. Too many hard memories of Cecily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did know some things. He’d met Cecily through a school mate at Eton, he ran Track for the school team, his first mission for the Brotherhood was assassinating a malicious lender in Essex. Beyond emotionless facts and the barest traces of memories, she really didn’t know her father’s history at all. Evie stood, making her way to her desk and pulling one of her father’s journals she’d had sent from Crawley. His scrawling handwriting was a comfort on nights like these, when the ache of losing him pressed at her more insistently. She flipped through the first few entries, dated only months before she and Jacob were born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entries weren’t particularly interesting, nothing of note, but it was these few stories of her mother that she had that held Evie’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The doctor’s order to rest is beginning to irritate Cecily and I’m starting to feel like I’m working in a menagerie, constantly shooing her back inside from the garden. At this rate, I may have to hire a groundskeeper so she’ll leave me alone about her damn petunias.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her mother is going to be staying with us soon. God help me that Marguerite doesn’t end up murdering me in my sleep. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for marrying Cecily. I’ve said to her before and I’ll say again that if she wanted to blame anyone she should blame Daniel Graves for introducing me to her daughter. And if she wanted to take it one step further, blaming Crawford Starrick for introducing me to Daniel--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what salacious novel might you be reading tonight, Evie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The journal dropped to the ground with a soft thud as Evie jolted backward, reeling from the last line she’d managed to read before Jacob’s rude entry. Had she misread it? Her father’s handwriting wasn’t neat by any stretch of the word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where the hell have you been?" She snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile vanished from his face. "I've been out. With Ned Wynert."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What business could you possibly have with Wynert?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob sneered. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you needed to know my whereabouts at all times. Although I suppose I should have expected that, given that you've turned into Father in every other way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie rolled her eyes and scoffed, bending down to pick up the journal. Jacob took a step forward and snatched it from her hands. “Jacob, stop it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’re reading one of his journals,” he muttered, “Because the bastard didn’t do enough while he was alive,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is wrong with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's wrong with you?” he retorted, "Did dying suddenly make you forget all the hell he put us through?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie grit her teeth. "He made mistakes but he wanted what was best for us and the Brotherhood."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Best for us?" Jacob laughed caustically, "You know, if he was still alive, we wouldn't be here. We'd still be in that fucking house pretending like we were making a difference while he paraded around obsessed with fairy tales, prioritizing </span>
  <em>
    <span>stories</span>
  </em>
  <span> over his own children."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk about him like that,” Evie said, gritting her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob narrowed his eyes. “You know, you used to be on my side, not his.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not on anyone’s side, Jacob.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s exactly the problem isn’t it? You’re so obsessed with continuing his legacy, with being the perfect daughter that you’ve somehow forgotten he doesn’t deserve it. Not from me and certainly not from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” she whispered, her voice choking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you keep acting like he was a saint?” Jacob tossed the journal ontol her desk, sending a stack of papers flying, “Bloody hypocrite is what he was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it,” Evie repeated, “If you’re going to act like a child do it somewhere I can’t hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I will,” Jacob said grimly, “Better to leave you to your charade that you’re doing something that would make him proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie’s mouth fell open and even her brother seemed to realize he'd gone a little too far. But he quickly squared his shoulders and Evie's hands clenched into fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You going to hit me?" Jacob asked, the steel in his voice razor-sharp, "Take your anger out on me? That would really complete the act, wouldn't it? You'll have to hit yourself too, though, that might not be as fun."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get out," Evie hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob spread his arms wide, a tight smile on his face. "Come on Evie, it's what Ethan would have done. That's all that matters to you isn't it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I said get out!" Evie shouted, but her voice cracked as tears began to well hot in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a split second, Jacob looked as though he might apologize. But his face lowered into an expression of resignation. "If becoming our father is what you want, fine. Do it. Just don't expect me to want to stay around."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She managed to wait until the sound of the car door closing came from around the wall before collapsing back onto her bed and letting out a retching series of sobs that tore at the inside of her throat. Evie tangled her fingers in her hair as her rapid breaths ran hot through her teeth. She couldn't let herself think about the choking fear that overwhelmed her in Crawley and permeated every inch of their home, because nothing was safe and Ethan would find out about everything eventually. And it would all come back to haunt them on the days when he couldn't keep his temper in check. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, she wouldn't think about that. She could focus on the good days, the days when they were training in the yard with wooden sticks and shoving into each other until one exclaimed that they yielded. The good nights where Evie would sit in the library with him and take meticulous notes about the books creased with folded page corners, and not the nights where the yelling echoed through the whole house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Jacob never seemed to understand, did he? That if she was good and she did what she was told, then maybe their Father would stop and he'd call her his darling again and they would be fine, they would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>just fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie held her breath for a moment until the pounding in her head faded and the world was no longer tinged with black. If Jacob wanted to be foolhardy and brash as he always was, she would find a way to deal with it. She had dealt with much worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she stood to extinguish the lamp above her desk, Evie's hand brushed the cover of the journal and the memory of the last entry she'd read spiraled through her mind once again. She'd forgotten in the moment, but now she picked up the book and traced her finger down the scrawled lines. And there it was, just as she'd read it before. Crawford Starrick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So her father had </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Templar Grandmaster? Though, she supposed, he wouldn't have been Grandmaster then. Starrick, a mutual friend of Daniel Graves, a schoolmate from Eton who Ethan would occasionally meet. But Ethan didn't seem disparaging in his journal--quite the opposite in fact. Perhaps that was why Starrick hesitated to kill her at London Bridge Station. Some kind of old debt to repay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evie flipped through the journal, but that was the first and last mention of Starrick within the pages. None of it really mattered. The next time she faced down the man would be the day he would die, she promised herself that.</span>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucy Thorne was distressed. It was not an emotion she usually experienced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or if she did, she’d done a marvelous job of hiding it from him, Crawford thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The rest of the documents are useless without that book,” she spat, pacing between the fireplace and the large rendering of Boticelli’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Abyss of Hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> that hung on the wall of his parlor. It was a piece Hattie had given him a strange look about, but Crawford was fond of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inferno</span>
  </em>
  <span> and frankly, he couldn’t be bothered to maintain a collection exclusively of originals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was used to Lucy’s tirades. She was expressive where he was not and vocal where he was rather passive. It was one of the things that made their partnership so fruitful over the last thirteen years. This, however, was not a rant born of anger as it was so usually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have tried every possible avenue to find the Shroud without that book and we have ripped apart the Kenway mansion, but there is nothing of use.” He raised an eyebrow as she let out a high-pitched snarl of frustration. “I have worked years for this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why I have every confidence that you will find the Shroud,” Crawford replied calmly, leaning back in the overstuffed green armchair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” he said, “I am simply pointing out a fact that I take comfort in and you should as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucy’s expression fell for a moment before she narrowed her eyes. “I swear, I am going to rip out that woman’s entrails and hang her with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a moment for Crawford to realize whom she was speaking of and when he did, it came with an unpleasant turn of his stomach. “Evie Frye?” He asked, some small part of him hoping Lucy was referring to someone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a look that told him everything he needed to know. “No, the Queen. Of course, Evie Frye!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How strange. His ill-fated enemies had stopped bothering him in his early twenties, when he assumed a larger role within the Order. Was it simply that Evie was Ethan’s daughter that he felt some trace of guilt? No, it wasn’t guilt. It was rather a lack of a desire to see her dead. The same feeling that had caused him to stand down at the telegraph station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was little he could do to justify his actions beyond that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The next time I see either of them, I’m just going to slit their throats there on the street,” Lucy continued, and Crawford started slightly from his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some kind of a plan, if it could be called that, began to form in his mind. “Why destroy an opportunity? If Miss Frye has the book as you so claim, she is likely following the same trail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucy crossed her arms over her chest, leaning on her good leg. “What do you suggest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow her. Track her movements and she will lead you to the Shroud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what would you have me do when she serves no more use to us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considered for a moment before lying through gritted teeth. “Then, you may dispose of her as you see fit.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Cadenza</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>o/ I am alive. For how much longer is up for debate.<br/>Thanks to UngarnMoc, my lovely beta, and an endless font of ideas for ways to raise the sexual tension in any given scene.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The stone of Saint Paul’s Cathedral was rough beneath Evie’s hands as she ascended up the side of a column surrounding the building’s façade toward the hidden room that had revealed itself after tinkering with the mechanical lock hidden within the cathedral. Evie could give the designer credit for cleverness, even if the lock itself was esoteric to the point of madness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Madness aside, she allowed herself a smug satisfaction that for all his mocking, Jacob would never have been able to figure it out. That suited her then, she could leave him to do the heavy lifting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he had been quite smug earlier as Evie was scoping out the monument to the Great Fire of London, looking for the best way to slip in amongst the crowd and investigate the trailhead she’d found at the Kenway mansion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure it led you </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He’d drawled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie rolled her eyes. “What a wonderful use of your time, following me around and asking obvious questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacob smirked. “Well since Henry isn’t here, I figured you might enjoy the company.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned to give him a withering look, even as her stomach clenched into a knot at the jibe. “I don’t require any company. Besides, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Green</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, putting emphasis on the formality of his name, “Is following up on some leads of his own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shocking considering he’s prone to following around like a lost puppy.” Evie scoffed but Jacob wasn’t finished. “Oh yes Mr. Green,” he continued in the awful falsetto he took when imitating her, even though her voice was nearly as deep as his, “That’s a fascinating idea. Oh please Mr. Green—” here he took her hand, giving her a sarcastic, saccharine smile, “Come and take a look at this book and stand oh so close to me Mr. Green.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Evie bit the inside of her lip. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>it about Henry that brought out all of Jacob’s worst instincts? She exhaled loudly through her nose. “Well, perhaps you have nothing better to do, but I am busy protecting the assassins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something changed in Jacob’s demeanor, his shoulders stiffening and his expression taking on a darker quality. “Are you really? Are you sure this isn’t about anything more personal than the Brotherhood? What was it father used to say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hated that he was right. She loathed him for knowing in his insufferable way that this was about </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much more than simply finding a piece of Eden, or keeping the Templars from doing the same. “Don’t let your personal feelings compromise the mission,” she said through gritted teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Precisely,” he said with a note of finality. He turned, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’m off. If I find any more wild geese for you to chase I’ll be in touch.” Jacob punctuated the last word by pushing her shoulder a bit too hard to be playful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It will be all the more pleasant for your absence,” Evie grumbled when he was out of earshot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And indeed it had. Without her brother’s shadow constantly making her second-guess herself in the name of pride, she’d put all her focus into locating the piece of Eden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie hauled herself up into the tiny chamber at the center of the Cathedral, lit by the sunlight streaming through stained glass panels that cut through the marble walls. A beam of multicolored light shone down onto a pedestal like a spotlight, illuminating a strand of beads that pulled at Evie's attention with an otherworldly force. At the end of the strand was a rectangular pendant and as Evie picked up the beads she realized that the necklace wasn’t merely lit by the sun. Rather, the pendant itself gave off a slight glow, emanating from the geometric fractures that studded the faces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This had to be the key to the precursor vault. Satisfied, Evie slipped the necklace over her head, but as the pendant fell against her chest, a voice from behind sent her into a fighting stance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good day, Miss Frye,” Lucy Thorne said, her hands crossed behind her back. Evie tensed, scowling at the woman as she continued, “I’ll take that if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do actually,” Evie replied, her voice low with warning as she withdrew her cane sword from its sheath on her hip. “Considering you only want the Shroud to cement your own power.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why do you want it?” Thorne shot back, “Merely to keep us from having it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paced around the edge of the room, and Evie backed away slowly until her heel hit the edge of the wall. Trapped. “What if you can’t control it?” Evie asked, desperately trying to stall for time, glancing toward the exit of the hidden room, “The pieces of Eden are too powerful for anyone to wield without consequence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How like an assassin,” Lucy scoffed, “To hold the power of eternal life and yet be too afraid to use it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie furrowed her eyebrows together, momentarily pulled out of her plans to flee. “Is that what you think the Shroud offers? Eternal life?” She wracked her mind for any instance of that particular ability in association with the Shroud of Eden. It did seem familiar, but nothing she could grasp immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lucy pulled a long dagger from within her coat. “What I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> is no longer your concern,” she hissed. Evie had only a split second to duck out of the way as Thorne brought the knife down towards her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie whipped her cane around, catching Lucy by the arm and throwing her off balance, but her opponent recovered quickly, pivoting and slashing at Evie’s face once more. Evie dodged the blade but in her haste failed to see Lucy’s hand reach out to snatch her by the arm. Rearing back, Evie slammed her full weight into the other woman who went stumbling back into the wall. With cat-like agility, Lucy reached into her coat and threw out a small parcel that immediately began to spew a thick cloud of smoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie reeled back coughing and Lucy used the opportunity to strike. Barely managing to avoid the tip of the knife that drove down towards her face, Evie pivoted as their weapons locked. For a brief moment it was a contest of strength until Evie managed to push Lucy backward once more. This time, though, Lucy reached out, her hand clasping around the precursor necklace. The beads went taut around Evie’s neck and she gagged and writhed, bringing her cane up and using the small blade to cut the necklace free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doubled over, retching, her eyes and lungs still burning from the smoke, but she didn’t have time to wait. Evie forced herself to follow Thorne but when she got to the exit of the hidden room, she looked around for the other woman and saw...nothing. Not a trace or clue as to where she had gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie sagged forward wearily. How had Thorne managed to get away so quickly? It had only been seconds, hadn’t it? She had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close!</span>
  </em>
  <span> She was back to having no leads while the Templars would have an edge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when she returned to the train empty-handed, Jacob was bound to mock her relentlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bloody hell,” she muttered, pressing her hands against her stinging eyes. “That’s the last thing I need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all spelled more work and more time lost that she didn’t have to lose in the first place. More missing pieces from a puzzle that already felt impossible, and more ammunition for Jacob in his willfully ignorant tirade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie coughed, rubbing a hand against her throat and looking out over the top of the Cathedral. In the distance, she could see the sun making its way toward the horizon, illuminating the skyline of the Strand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, she couldn’t go back to the train having made no progress. But perhaps she wouldn’t need to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her previous ventures in tracking down Edwin Gordon had been fruitless. This time, however, maybe she didn’t need to limit herself to simply waiting in the shadows.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I should never have come between Mr. Starrick and Miss Attaway.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ghost of Malcolm Milner’s voice echoed in Jacob’s ears as he stormed through the streets, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Family always stay together in the end</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fool</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d been. Pearl had been playing him the entire time, hadn’t she? Stringing him along on the ruse of a businesswoman up against an empire that had it out for her. All the while she’d been using him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, well, Jacob knew she was using him, but at least it was in a way he thought he understood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been an address in Milner’s coat pocket, and after a little digging that involved very </span>
  <em>
    <span>politely</span>
  </em>
  <span> asking one of Milner’s underlings about the address at gunpoint, Jacob quickly discovered it was frequently used as a clandestine meeting spot for business. It was a thin lead, but it was the only lead he had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the sky above the city of London faded from a smog-filled gray to dusty orange, Jacob stalked the streets looking for any sign of his target. News of Milner’s death would spread quickly, wouldn’t it? He could force Starrick’s hand here and now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t Starrick whose arrival startled him, though he should have expected to see Pearl Attaway’s carriage stop at the corner of the street where Jacob lurked. He shot to his feet, eyes wide as he watched Pearl gracefully step down onto the street, stepping gingerly over the mud that pooled in the crevices in the pavement. She glanced around, searching the street behind her, but her eyes passed right over him. If she was expecting to be followed, it certainly wasn’t from him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only when Pearl had disappeared into the run-down manufacturing building did Jacob cross the road, keeping his head down and shuffling as he walked. Between his mannerisms and patched coat—a coat Evie did like to make fun of him for continuing to wear despite being, in her words “far past its years of use”—any prying eyes would mistake him for another dock worker heading home for the evening. And no one paid him any mind as he slipped around the side of the building and disappeared into the fenced-off yard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacob took a deep breath and fell into a dead sprint towards the building, his boots scraping against the brick and peeling mortar as he launched himself up. His hands slapped against the frame of a window and he hauled himself up over the edge, rolling as he hit the floorboards and wincing as they creaked beneath him. He waited in silence to the count of ten, and when no one came to investigate, he pushed himself to his feet and slunk up the stairs towards the voices that he could just make out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he drew closer, he could pick out Pearl’s voice, conversing with a man whose voice was low and almost whisper-quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Imagine!” Pearl said, her words echoing off the empty concrete walls, “An Assassin, working for the Templar cause. Isn’t that </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacob flinched. If there was any doubt as to Miss Attaway’s true loyalties, that had been thoroughly dispelled with what felt like a punch to his gut. Oh she’d played him like a fucking fiddle hadn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s sickening.” The man replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>business,</span>
  </em>
  <span> cousin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Starrick in the room with Pearl. That certainly made things difficult. He couldn’t just barge in and slit her throat and expect the Grandmaster to simply stand down. Jacob crept closer, pressing himself against an unfinished wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So your sending our enemy to hijack my operations and assassinate the man I’d put in charge is all simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>business</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You glower too much,” Pearl chided. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Our </span>
  </em>
  <span>new motorized buses will bring us both a lot of money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Money. Of course, it was all about the fucking money. All of this, all of the manipulation and scheming and murder was for profit. He itched to flick out his hidden blade and bury it in the woman’s neck. Starrick’s too. The whole lot of them, using and abusing people for their own goddamn money.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So intense was Jacob’s seething that he almost missed Starrick’s next words. “I’ll need to arrange proper transport for the engines to get back to my factory,” he said, “I want you at Waterloo personally to ensure that nothing goes wrong. I don’t need another layer to this mess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Pearl replied smoothly. Then, in a tone almost like joking, she continued, “May the father of understanding guide us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Today and in all of our future endeavors, cousin.” Jacob watched through a hole in the wooden boards as Pearl took Starrick’s arm and he escorted her through another room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacob exhaled heavily. “Waterloo station,” he said to himself, shaking his head. He had a new target, a new location. He’d done enough to call this investigation complete, hadn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, damn protocol. Ethan was dead and the assassin’s rules could go to hell with him. Jacob had made a mistake—he’d fix it on his own terms.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Evie’s fist connected with her opponent’s jaw with a sickening crunch, the padding around her knuckles not enough to stop the shock of bone against bone. It was a good kind of pain, the pain that helped her focus, the kind that kept her alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a brilliant show we have our undefeated champion, the charming Miss Evie Frye!,” Robert Topping shouted behind her as the man Evie had just boxed collapsed to the ground, blood trailing from his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a mixed reaction from the crowd. Evie supposed that she'd upset usual bets. Who was going to put money on a slight, wide-eyed woman barely out of her teenage years? Topping, on the other hand, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> pleased with this turn of events. He’d spent many a day urging her to fight in one of the clubs he booked for, and Evie now understood why. Still, it wasn’t as much about the hefty wad of bills currently sitting with her name on it as much as it was the sweet release of adrenaline pouring through her, keeping her up on her toes despite the several heavy blows she had taken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four rounds against our leading fighters and she’s hardly broken a sweat, ladies, and gentleman,” Topping announced. That wasn’t quite true—Evie’s chest ached something fierce and she was going to have a nasty black eye tomorrow, but she was still good for another fight at least. “Can she be defeated? Who has the courage to test their mettle against this bloody Queen of the ring!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had a title now? That was taking things a bit too far and Evie rolled her eyes. As she windmilled her arms back and forth, waiting for the next unlucky man to take the bait, she caught sight of two men standing in the back corner of the room. Her stomach leaped into her throat as she recognized the one facing her: it was Edwin Gordon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Goosebumps rose on her arms and she whirled around to Robert. “Actually, I think I’m done for today,” Evie said quickly, ignoring his sputtering as she ducked under the ropes surrounding the ring and started unwrapping her boxing tape. Was there a chance in hell he hadn’t recognized her too? She hadn’t made quite as much ruckus as Jacob, but the Templars were certainly aware of the presence of both Frye twins in London.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Evie—Miss Frye,” Topping said under his breath, “Are you sure? You’re on quite a run today and I’m sure we could double what you’ve made if we—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shove off,” she hissed back, “I’ll be back some other time for your half-baked schemes, right now I’m...oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck me!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Evie had been watching Gordon over her shoulder and the man he’d been speaking to had turned as well. </span>
  <span>Because of course, with the day she’d had, she would finally get an opportunity to follow Gordon and he would be meeting with none other than Starrick himself</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does the saying go? Let me take you to dinner first?” Topping said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not you, you twat,” Evie shook her head sharply. “Look, I’m very sorry to leave like this but really, this is important. I’ll meet you on the train to discuss details, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seemed satisfied with that answer and she heaved a sigh of relief. He had endeared himself to Evie when she discovered how he was respected in London’s underworld despite acting like some fop, but he could be overbearing to the point of agony at times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie slunk through a small crowd of dirty looks and when she reached her table, she started to pull on her shirt, turning as she started fastening the buttons to ensure Gordon didn’t slip away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she found herself face-to-face with Crawford Starrick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stumbled back against the table, her eyes going wide as she tried in vain to reach for some kind of weapon without looking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” She snarled, giving up for a knife or gun and settling for balling her fists at her sides. “Was that your plan? Wait until I was defenseless, then kill me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down examining her for...what? Hidden weapons? Some sign of weakness he could exploit? “Miss Frye, if you were blindfolded and had an arm tied behind your back I still might hesitate to call you </span>
  <em>
    <span>defenseless.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face ran hot as she furrowed her eyebrows. Had he intended that as a compliment? “I have a reputation in these clubs, Mr. Starrick,” she said, trying to inject a false sense of confidence into her voice, “If you attack me here, you will quickly find there are consequences.” It was a hollow threat and he likely knew it, but it was the only card she had to play. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem quite convinced I intend to do you harm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I certainly intend to do you harm at some point in the near future,” she shot back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An irritatingly cocky smirk pulled at Starrick’s mouth. “Then, I’ll ask you to hold off for a little while longer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll ask me?” Evie laughed mirthlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed. As I’m asking you now if we might strike a deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze didn’t waver from his as her mind churned through his words. A man like Starrick didn’t make </span>
  <em>
    <span>deals</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he crushed weak men under money and strong men under force. “What could I possibly have to offer you, Mr. Starrick? You own half of London.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More than half, technically speaking,” he said, “However this is something that concerns you. Your brother, to be exact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fear clenched an icy fist around her heart. Jacob. He had Jacob. He was going to hurt him or kill him or worse, wasn’t he? Her mouth went dry as she replied, still desperately trying to match his confidence, “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Happily. This matter is of some confidentiality. Would you follow me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She barely stopped herself from telling him he could go fuck himself. “I’ll meet you outside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Starrick nodded and as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone. Evie leaned back on the table, her fingers finally brushing against her gun and she let out a giddy, insane laugh. She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing heavily. Oh Jacob had gotten himself into </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much trouble this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled on the rest of her clothes, checking to make sure her hidden blade was calibrated and her gun was loaded. There wasn’t room for mistakes here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie had forgotten about Gordon with the arrival of his superior, and she turned as she ascended the stairs to the club’s exit to seek him out, but he was gone. Still, she didn’t feel any particular sense of loss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The Strand wasn’t exactly a breath of fresh air, but compared to the smoke-filled miasma of the fight club, it was practically the countryside. True to his word, Starrick waited at the entrance to an alleyway that led back out onto the main road, his silhouette illuminated in the dark by the yellow street lamps. Evie approached cautiously, looking for any sign of an ambush. She did note a few thugs loitering around, but they were too far away to be an immediate threat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Starrick said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Skip the pleasantries,” Evie replied coldly, her hand brushing against the cane sword at her side, “What have you done with Jacob?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flash of confusion passed over his face, marring the otherwise unbothered facade he instantly put back up. “Nothing. Your brother is safe for the moment, off causing more havoc in my city, no doubt. In fact it is a family member of mine I wish to protect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Safe. Jacob was safe. Evie relaxed slightly. “I have no interest in helping you with one of your schemes, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Starrick plunged on as though he hadn’t heard her. “You’re familiar with the omnibus companies in London, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you’re the real owner of Malcolm Milner’s transport company,” Evie said, keeping her voice even.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Milner is dead,” Starrick said flatly, “At the hands of your brother no less.” He held up a hand to forestall any commentary from Evie, “Though I know he was urged to assassinate Milner by his rival, Pearl Attaway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie scoffed, then hesitated. Starrick had said this was a family matter, but he certainly wasn’t related to Milner. Could he then be related to—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Attaway is a favorite cousin of mine,” Starrick continued, “And your brother is now after her life I’m afraid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what do you want me to do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Convince him not to kill her.” Evie tilted her head to the side, watching him carefully, and when she didn’t stop him, he added, “She used your brother to accomplish her own designs. Her business has nothing to do with me, or at least I can ensure it won’t. All I ask is that she stays out of your list of targets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie laughed. A full, raucous laugh that made her press a hand to her stomach. “You’ve lost your mind,” she said through a sharp breath, “What makes you think I would do anything to help you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because as you said, Miss Frye, I am a man of great means, and yet my resources have been unsuccessful in stopping your brother thus far. I am in a position, however, to offer you some sort of compensation for this act of...goodwill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re serious?” Evie asked, her chest still shaking with laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deadly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said Miss Attaway had Milner murdered? Then why go to such lengths to protect her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Starrick met her eyes solemnly. “Is there anything you would not do for your family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sobriety was chilling. Here was one of the most, if not </span>
  <em>
    <span>the most</span>
  </em>
  <span> powerful men in London practically begging Evie to do the one thing she never could do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he didn’t know that, did he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie chose her words carefully. “Removing a target from an assassin’s sights isn’t an easy task.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pearl will do you no harm so long as she doesn’t feel threatened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a Templar, isn’t she?” His silence was all the answer she needed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Edwin Gordon,” Evie said at last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to know where to find him. Where he conducts his business, his secret meetings I’ve heard so much about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Starrick considered her at length, the only sound passing between them the rumble of carriage wheels against cobblestone and the distant laughter of some pub or other. “You’d ask me to exchange a life for another?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t act as though that bothers you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t. I’m simply surprised that it doesn’t bother you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mind unhelpfully conjured up a dozen memories of her father scolding her that she was not God, she did not get to play with the lives of others as though they were toys. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That is what separates us from our enemies, Evie. We acknowledge that we are no better than they. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She pushed her father’s voice away. “A man who’s already dead means nothing to me,” she lied through gritted teeth. “That’s my offer. Attaway’s life for Gordon’s life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Starrick nodded. “King Street. Guildhall Solicitors, tomorrow at four o'clock. He’ll be there. I’ll arrive at six and you’ll have until then. After that, I make no guarantees.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Triumph soared through Evie’s chest. “Agreed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She extended a hand and Starrick accepted the handshake, but before she could let go he yanked her forward, knocking her off-balance into him and he whispered against her ear “If you do not uphold your end of this bargain, I will send every man I have after you and your brother. Make no mistake Miss Frye, I do not take your invasion of this city lightly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let go of her and Evie reeled back, reaching for her cane, but Starrick had already turned his back to her, striding off down the street as though nothing had happened at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Evie braced herself against the wall, panting slightly. That was twice now that bastard had gotten the better of her. Pearl or no Pearl, Evie made a solemn promise to herself that she would not let it happen again.</span>
</p>
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